


Long Live the King

by spowell Once and Future Series (SPowell)



Series: Once and Future [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, M/M, Modern AU, Post 5X13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1601900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Once%20and%20Future%20Series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 in a series.</p><p>Arthur adjusts to modern life.</p><p>Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to BBC and Shine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Camelot Land challenge #3 The Big One, prompts: Tintagel, Darkling Woods, The Rising Sun, and the five kingdoms. Team Arthur.

 

Arthur has always known Merlin is a bit of a worrier, but he really exceeds himself in this modern age.

“You do know I’m still capable of taking care of myself,” Arthur reminds Merlin over breakfast on the morning Merlin is to go back to work for the first time since Arthur’s return. Merlin has just finished running over a long list of things Arthur should not do and places he should not go while Merlin is gone.

Merlin’s bright blue eyes meet Arthur’s from across the table.

“Of course you are, if someone were to come upon you with a sword and announce your imminent death. Or if someone were to challenge you to a duel…or if your kingdom were to require defending… all of which won’t happen. What might happen, though, is you might try to be a hero in a mugging, or…or you might get hit by a lorry, or maybe electrocuted!”

Arthur leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “What is a _mugging_?”

“It’s when someone puts a gun to your ribs and demands all your money,” Merlin says flatly, standing and taking his dish and tea cup to the sink.

“How is that any different from defending myself against traveling marauders out to steal my gold every time we passed through Darkling Woods?” Arthur asks, knowing what a _gun_ is only because he saw one on television. Still, he thinks he could probably kick one out of a thief’s hands without much of a problem.

Merlin sighs.

“It just is.” He looks at Arthur so sadly that all of Arthur’s annoyance, along with his urge to tease, completely leaks out of him.

“People are different now, Arthur. You’ve got to believe me. Sure, there were bad people back then, but there always remained some vestige of honour in most of them. That’s not true anymore. Plus a gun is a fearsome weapon.”

Arthur’s unconvinced. Things couldn’t have changed that much. But he doesn’t like seeing the anxiety on Merlin’s face, particularly since Merlin had another one of his dreams the night before, so he smiles and nods.

“Whatever you say, Merlin. You’re the expert.” He gets up from his chair and looks around.

“Could you possibly tell me where in the five kingdoms my outer smock is?”

Merlin frowns. “Your what? Oh, you mean your hoodie? I think I saw it.” Merlin disappears into the laundry room and reappears with the blue garment, handing it to Arthur.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur pulls it on. He has to admit—clothing smells much better in this century. “And before you go, would you?” He indicates his cup on the table.

“Prat,” Merlin says without heat. His eyes turn a burnished gold and steam rises out of Arthur’s formerly tepid cup of tea.

“Thanks,” Arthur smiles.

Merlin leans in and softly kisses Arthur on the mouth. “Be good,” he says firmly, eyes demanding Arthur do as he’s told.

“Merlin, I am your king, not your ward,” Arthur reminds him, raising a brow.

Merlin snorts, kisses Arthur again, and walks out the door.

Arthur’s a little unsure of what to do with himself. Merlin managed to take a month off his job after Arthur’s reappearance but could no longer avoid going back, and Arthur suddenly feels at loose ends without him by his side. Yet he has to admit it’s a bit liberating not having Merlin breathing down is neck, worried that Arthur will somehow manage to kill himself on a bit of modern technology.

Arthur spends half an hour cleaning up the kitchen before looking at the mobile phone Merlin left him, not liking the metallic shine of it or the way the screen mysteriously lights up at Arthur’s touch. He leaves it on the table and decides to go explore. Just the streets to the west of the building that he and Merlin have never walked before on their jaunts—not too far.

Arthur carefully locks the door with the key Merlin gave him and takes the stairs because he still can’t bring himself to use the moving room called an elevalator—or something; not without Merlin, at least. Of course, Arthur would never admit this to Merlin. It’s ridiculous that someone trained to kill from birth should be filled with trepidation when faced with the incomprehensible machinery that Arthur’s been faced with since his return. It’s something he’s going to have to get over quickly, and Merlin simply isn’t to know about it.

Outside it’s drizzling and a bit cold. Arthur pulls the hoodie up over his head, definitely his favourite piece of garb from this new age, and tucks his hands into the pouch in the front, ducking his head a bit to avoid being pelted with rain as he walks along the sidewalk, peering occasionally into shop windows.

Merlin works several blocks away in a bookstore; he showed it to Arthur just recently. He has a bicycle he rides and keeps in a storage room in their building and locks onto a tree in front of the shop. Arthur rather thinks horses were a better mode of transportation and wonders why people gave them up. He doesn’t much like cars, either. He and Merlin have one, a Bolts Wagon, although it doesn’t resemble a wagon in the least; but Merlin says they cost a lot to use so they rarely drive it. The car is a subject of contention between the two of them at the moment, as Arthur deplores it. He refuses to admit it’s because he’s shite at driving the thing and claims it’s because the Bolts Wagon is noisy and puts out bad-smelling smoke that makes him ill.

Arthur walks at a brisk pace, turning the corner and heading down a back alley to emerge on an unfamiliar street, making sure to note the name of it so he can find his way back; it would be unthinkable to get lost and have to endure Merlin’s chastising over it. Arthur walks for several blocks, the fine rain gradually abating. Soon the shops take on a different look; a bit shabbier with a distinct air of encroaching poverty. A young man shouts to a group of boys across the street, his voice rough and edgy, a tone that immediately puts Arthur on alert.

He walks another block, coming upon an elderly woman sitting on a corner under the striped awning of a small café called The Rising Sun, some kind of metal cart parked beside her. It’s piled high with things like clothing, aluminum pans, and a machine like the one that cooks bread in Arthur and Merlin’s flat. She doesn’t have any teeth, and Arthur thinks she appears quite destitute.

Accustomed to sharing with the less fortunate, Arthur reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes out a bill—he isn’t quite sure how much it is, as he hasn’t quite yet grown accustomed to the currency—and hands it to the old woman. Her eyes meet his, rheumy and startled, and then she nods, mumbling out her thanks. He nods back, smiling at her, and continues on.

It isn’t but a moment or two later that a swift blow to Arthur’s head throws him onto his side in an alley. He rolls to his back, the world tilting, not even glimpsing his attacker before blacking out.

All he can really think before he sinks into unconsciousness is, “If I’m not dead already, Merlin’s going to kill me.”

^^^

A sharp, bright light shines in Arthur’s eyes.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Arthur Pen-Pendragon,” Arthur manages to say through the pain pulsating in his brain.

“Where were you born?”

“Tintagel Castle.”

“Hm.”

Arthur winces in agony and the light disappears. He’s lying on something soft, and there’s a lot of bustling activity around him.

“Mr. …Pendragon,” comes the voice again, “Can you tell me what year it is?”

 _Now, that’s a good question_. Arthur remains silent, blinking until he can make out a figure in a white coat, a concerned frown under a shaggy, gray mustache, and beady dark eyes that squint with concentration, wrinkles fanning out from their corners. Arthur wonders for a moment if he could have gone back in time, and he’s suddenly afraid. What if he’s left Merlin behind? His hand clutches at the sheet beneath his fingers.

“I’m Dr. Brighton, Mr. Pendragon,” the man’s voice becomes soothing. “You were found unconscious in an alley by a homeless woman. You have quite the knot on your head.”

Arthur reaches up and gingerly feels his scalp where there is indeed a pump knot with a laceration. The incident on the street slowly comes back to him.

“I’m afraid you may have a concussion. Your wallet appears to have been stolen. Is there anyone we can call?”

“Can’t you just release me?” Arthur asks, not liking the idea of Merlin being brought to hospital, for it’s become obvious to Arthur that’s where he’s landed himself.

“I’d rather not.”

“What time is it?” Arthur asks, looking around the room. It hurts to move his head.

“It’s just after three,” the doctor answers, glancing at his wrist.

“Fuck,” Arthur mutters. How long had he been walking? How long has he been unconscious? Merlin will be getting off soon. He doesn’t want Merlin to come home to an empty flat. Why in the hell did Arthur go out without the mobile? He doesn’t know Merlin’s number. He pushes the panic down and thinks.

“My…friend. He works in a shop called _By the Book_. His name is Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”

The doctor gives Arthur a strange look, but addresses a nurse standing nearby, “Look it up.”

Arthur drifts off after that, awakening once to hear the words, “He says he’s Arthur Pendragon, born in Tintagel Castle. And his friend’s name is _Merlin!_ Must have been some wallop to the head.”

The next thing Arthur knows, someone is squeezing his hand. “Arthur…”

Arthur’s eyes flutter open to find Merlin’s staring back at him.

“Merlin?” Arthur croaks.

“You utter clotpole!” Merlin’s eyes are both angry and tellingly damp. He leans forward. “You’re lucky I have magic and can zap your identity into existence! As it stands, your parents were huge history buffs, as I suppose were mine. But the Tintagel Castle thing was definitely the object of the blow to your head. You were born in London, in hospital. I’ve got it all worked out.” He looks over his shoulder at the approaching doctor before turning back to Arthur. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

Arthur raises a brow. “Are you finished grousing at me?”

Merlin sits back, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “Yes. Though I’m still angry. What were you doing way over there, Arthur?”

“I was exploring.” Arthur looks up at Merlin, giving him a cheeky grin. Merlin’s mouth falls open, and he sputters.

“You could’ve been killed! I told you! Arthur, that was a mugging! He could have stabbed you or shot you, or…any number of things!”

“But he didn’t, he just hit me over the head.” Arthur struggles to sit up. “Something that happened to me quite often before, if you’ll recall.”

“Now, now,” the doctor immediately appears at Arthur’s side. “Take it easy. I suppose since we now know you really do know who you are, it changes things a bit, although the Tintagel Castle thing threw me…”

Arthur chuckles. “I believe I’d been dreaming.” He swings his feet off the thin mattress. “I really would like to go now.”

The doctor gives Merlin instructions for Arthur’s care, they sign the appropriate papers, and leave, taking a taxi to their flat.

“I don’t mind telling you, you took several years off my life today, Arthur,” Merlin tells him.

“Aren’t you kind of…immortal?” Arthur makes a face.

“Shut it,” Merlin scoffs irritably, “or I’ll give you another knot on your big, fat head.”

Later that night, while lying in bed together, Merlin spooned comfortably in Arthur’s arms, Arthur’s chin tucked over Merlin’s bare shoulder, Arthur brings up what’s been on his mind ever since he’d been knocked out on the street.

“Merlin,” he begins, trying to find the words.

Merlin turns a bit in Arthur’s arms, peering at him in the dark.

“What is it? Are you feeling ill?”

Arthur presses a kiss into the warm, soft skin of Merlin’s neck.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just that…well.”

“Arthur?”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart rate picking up underneath his palm, and that won’t do. He swallows and forces the words out.

“I’m sorry for frightening you today, and I’m sorry for not listening better when you warned me about what could happen.”

Merlin is silent for a long moment in which Arthur buries his nose in the hair at Merlin’s nape and tangles their bare feet beneath the covers.

“Am I getting this right, and you’re actually apologizing?” Merlin asks, and Arthur nods. “Wow. Momentous occasion.”

Arthur reaches down and pinches Merlin on the arse.

“Ouch!”

“Be happy with the apology,” Arthur growls, breath warm on Merlin’s neck.

“I just worry about you,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur’s arms more snuggly around him and settling in.

“I know. It takes some getting used to. All of this does.” Arthur moves his chin back to Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s different, you know? Not being…king.”

Merlin moves his head so that his cheek touches Arthur’s nose and wiggles his arse against Arthur’s groin, causing Arthur to lose all train of thought for a moment.

“You’ll always be my king, Sire,” Merlin whispers, turning his head just enough so that Arthur can see Merlin's eyes shining full of love and promise in the darkness.

Arthur thinks that just might be enough.

 


End file.
